So What Would You Do?

It’s time to play the game that’s sweeping the nation:

• So What Would You Do?

A couple of days ago, I was playing a game of video baseball in the basement with my son.  He won 5-2 on an opposite field three-run homer in the bottom of the eighth.

Cheater.  But I digress.

As I’m headed upstairs, I notice that the area where my autographed baseballs are displayed looks a little empty.  

As I go to check it out, I notice there are three balls out of their cases, sitting in the open air on the counter.

One of the balls was signed by Joe Dimaggio & Mickey Mantle, one was signed by Pete Rose and one was signed by a bunch of people I couldn’t read.

As I headed that way, I could hear my son gasp.

These balls, handed down from my dad, hold some serious sentimental value, in addition to some serious financial value as well.

So seeing them on the counter with no protection really freaked me out.

• So What Would You Do?

Before you answer, here’s what I did.

I used my outdoor voice, inside my basement, to politely ask my son what happened.

I think he figured out pretty quickly, the video games were over.

He mumbled something about his older sister blah blah blah.

Within seconds, my wife heard the noise explosion and ran down the stairs faster than Usain Bolt.

For the next few moments, it sounded like an AM radio station around two in the morning. 

You could hear some words, but nothing made sense.

• So What Would You Do?

Well, I went nuts.  Crazy nuts!

I don’t recall the exact dialogue, but if the kids ever get a spelling test on the vocabulary of Andrew Dice Clay, they should do very well.

Not my proudest moment.  By far.

Of course I could blame my outburst on the stress of being unemployed, but I’ll save that chip for another blog.

Somewhere in the screaming, I heard more excuses than a session of Congress during the health care debate.

I heard son, daughter, nephew, niece, George Bush -- he’s to blame for everything, right?

Finally, the truth came out.  

The culprit was my six-year old daughter.

Apparently my sweet innocent little angel and future soccer star was kicking the ball in the basement a few weeks earlier.

A few WEEKS earlier.

One of her shots was just a bit outside when it broke three of the plastic cases with one shot.   

Now that’s a talent.

• So What Would You Do?

I think what fumed me more than anything was the cat and mouse game of trying to find out what had really happened.

Had I known right away that my youngest daughter had broke it like Beckham, I would’ve reacted a lot better.

Well, at least a little better.

After a few unpleasant moments, which felt like a lot of unpleasant moments, the volume of the discussion finally came down.

And when it did, with my blood still boiling, I headed straight upstairs to my daughter’s disaster, called her bedroom and I....

...cleaned her room.

Spotless.

I put all her toys away, folded her clothes and threw away a bags worth of trash. 

I’m not really sure how I ended up there, but it was the perfect therapy, giving me a chance to cool down.

About 30 minutes later, I reopened the door and moved on with day.

• So What Would You Do?